


Orbiting

by Raven (singlecrow)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:13:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlecrow/pseuds/Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standing there with her eyes steady and clear, Seven looks as impeccable as B’Elanna remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orbiting

"I think," B’Elanna says, "we have time for one more question" - and actually there’s probably time for three or four more, but it’s a million degrees out, there’s sand in between her cranial ridges, she’s thirsty and she needs to pee and four cups of coffee was too many but apparently not enough. "You, sir, in the front row."

The man in the front row has a name badge that identifies him as Master Scientist Sel from the Vulcan Science Academy, and his question is complex and multi-faceted and requires careful thought in the metaethical as well as practical engineering modes, and when he’s done and she’s thought about it and answered and confessed herself ill-qualified to address the deontology of Vulcans and made suggestions for further research and tried hard not to sneeze, she thanks them all for coming, waits till they’ve filed out of the room in orderly rows and slides gratefully down the back of the podium and closes her eyes for a minute.

Ten minutes later, she’s still there. She’s wondering if she might just die here - her physiology is not designed for desert heat, or desert sand, or desert anything - when a clipped, crisp voice says: “Lieutenant Commander Torres. Are you unwell?

"Seven?"

"Hello," Seven says. Standing there with her eyes steady and clear, she looks as impeccable as B’Elanna remembers, although she’s wearing the same desert robes the Vulcans wear, over a practical tunic, and maybe that’s why she’s not sprawled on the floor like a beached whale. Although maybe not, B’Elanna thinks, sourly: Seven would probably look cool and comfortable inside a warp core containment field. "I had thought to ask" - Seven pauses for a moment - "if you wished… sustenance. However, if you are not…"

"I’m fine, Seven," B’Elanna says, quickly. "Could you help me up? Thanks."

Seven holds out a hand and B’Elanna takes it, lets herself sneeze some of the dust out of her sinuses, and takes a deep, steadying breath, wobbling slightly. Seven still hasn’t let go of her hand. “Perhaps,” Seven says, “sustenance would be appropriate, after all.”

They go out into the busy Shi’Kahr street, find the nearest restaurant, and the practical Starfleet officer inside B’Elanna takes charge: by the time she’s gone to pee, run a comb through her hair and drunk a half-litre of water, Seven has made the executive decision to order two lots of the lunch special. B’Elanna eats hers in less than five minutes, drinks another half-litre of water and sits back in her chair with a sigh. “I think,” she says, “I needed that.”

"I concur." Seven nods. "You will of course permit me to settle the account."

B’Elanna laughs at that. “Seven, you’re - well. I was going to say you haven’t changed, but I guess that’s not true.”

"I believe I have," Seven says, seriously. "I have adapted."

"How do you like it?" B’Elanna asks, curiously. "Teaching, I mean?"

"Very much." Seven smiles - and B’Elanna realises that even though she lives among Vulcans, she smiles more readily than B’Elanna remembers, making the lines of her face less flawlessly perfect and more lived-in. "I enjoy the company of my students and colleagues. Commander Tuvok’s family in particular have been very kind."

"I guess you don’t want to come back to Earth?"

"I may, some day," Seven says, still seriously. "I believe I might have" - a tiny, uncertain pause - "friends there. As well."

"I reckon you probably do," B’Elanna says. Leaning back in her chair and looking out the glass window, her engineer’s mind takes a moment to appreciate the careful forcefield construction protecting the surface from the abrasion of the wind and sand. It’s perfectly controlled, in the face of mighty forces. She thinks she understands why Seven is happy here.

"You have changed, also," Seven says, thoughtfully, and B’Elanna bristles almost automatically.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" she says, and then regrets it when a faint look of surprise appears on Seven’s face.

"I meant no offence," she says. "I was merely remarking on the depth and subtlety of your scholarship. When I knew you first, your ability was based on intuition, not intellect."

B’Elanna grins to herself: she’s a grown woman and knows, deep in her heart at least, that Seven is not calling her stupid. “I learned,” she admits, “with the Maquis and with Voyager. I had to be the sort of engineer who could learn from the nuts and bolts in front of her. There weren’t textbooks, you know? But these days, I figure, not everyone should have to spend seven years in the Delta Quadrant to be a good engineer. So I teach them.”

Seven smiles again. “Perhaps…” she says, and then stops.

B’Elanna frowns at her. “What, Seven?”

Seven takes a deep breath. “Perhaps,” she says, in a low voice, “you and I have changed in orbit around one another.”

B’Elanna thinks about that for a second, about Seven’s painstaking meticulousness in everything she does, at her insistence on carefully-calibrated, operationalised perfection; and about Seven of Nine, who is Borg and human at once, with two histories within one skin, and undoubtedly the most emotional person on a faculty of Vulcans. “You know what, Seven?” she says. “I’m okay with that.”

"As am I, Commander." Seven nods at her. "As I said, you will of course permit me to settle the account."

"Come round for dinner tomorrow," B’Elanna says in answer to that, "I’m here another couple of days, you can bring dessert" - and leans back in her chair, content, breathing in warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> This story exists in the same universe as "[Wearing Shrapnel In Our Skin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1742000)".


End file.
